Wilted
by Blonde Gingernut
Summary: After bk 3. Set days after Gemma gets to America. She keeps having strange dreams of a wilted tree in the realms. Feeling ill & lonely, she returns to London & finds some odd things in the realms, leading to worries & a reunion? Libba Bray owns all R&R! x
1. Chapter 1

The Tree of Souls. It stands there, tall and mighty, in the middle of the Winterlands. In the middle of my nightmares. To think I believed America would rid me of some of the realms' darker workings; the horrors I'd once faced. That idea is laughable. I have no doubts that this is a dream, not a vision, because it is the same one that has haunted me for so many days –since I left Spence. Since I left Kartik. The tree has withered, died away and began rotting; within days it is dead. The leaves are burning, and I am stuck, helplessly watching, with a torch in one hand, blazing as bright, fierce red as the leaves. That is when I gasp, cry out. In dream and reality I drown in tears, and in the nightmare I collapse in anguish, repeating his name like a mantra. The whole Winterlands falls to the flames. And there is Felicity, swinging her sword like an axe –and doing as much damage as one, hacking at the tree, a mad glare in her eyes. Ann is singing. Not the gentle, beautiful songs, but a solemn requiem, the high pitched, mournful crescendo makes tears leak freely from my eyes – in pain or in sadness, I cannot tell. Yet I am still unable to move! To stop the fire, to stop Felicity in her chaotic slashes, quell Ann's frightful melody.

There is a screech, not unalike nails scraping along a chalkboard. I break free of the stillness and stumble toward the tree, caring for nothing other than Kartik's soul. I trip forward into black eyes, wide and shining, like no human's eyes. I see nothing else, and the screaming reaches a higher volume, climbing louder with every second. I fall to my knees, still trapped in those black, animalistic eyes. I see nothing else of what I'm staring at other than the wild midnight orbs. Every morning, I wake with a scream, only to find it is the same shriek from my dreams.

Thus starts my day, at four am.

The nightmare is not real. It can't be; Philon, Asha, and even the Gorgon have looked – I can't bear the Winterlands, not anymore – and I haven't seen Ann or Felicity in years. In fact, I haven't really had a lot of human contact, especially not from Great Britain. It's too soon, I have only just got here. I know what it feels like to be alone, I was alone once when I was back in Spence, but that was just because I felt betrayed, and with Circe's encouragement, I nearly turned everyone against me. Then, I was afraid. Now, I feel worse, understandably, I'm in a different continent, trying to start my life anew.

I stand up out of bed; no point of trying to sleep again, it is impossible. The regular sickness comes, dizzy, light-headedness, and I have to dash to the bathroom to be sick. It's just an effect of me adjusting to my new life – at least, I hope it is. When I'm done, I feel fine again, so I walk to the hall window to peek outside. Looking out to the new world that once offered me solace, it now seems as dull as day. I can't tell if it is sunny or not; the fog stops my judgement. It is normally sunny.

I shall find myself a husband –despite the fact I am technically still 'married' (in the realms) to a spirit in a tree. I swallow hard, tears stinging my eyes once more. Though I have vowed to move on, I would still like to cut down an entire army, should doing that release Kartik to a world where we could be together again. Unfortunately, there are no armies in my way. It is destiny, fate, whatever you wish to call it that stands in my way. Kartik's love separates us. Those cursed tears overwhelm my eyes and spill away. I will always wish for the impossible.

I quickly shower, and get ready for the day. The empty day, just like the others. I don my clothing; no longer bound into a corset – of clothing and of the mind – instead I just wear a blouse and a long skirt, then cover it with a cardigan. I don't bother look in the mirror – I'm in no mood to make an effort on my appearance. I walk toward the front door, only to see I have mail.

It's from Ann. Or rather, I can guess it is. It's a miniature poster for _'Romeo and Juliet',_ with the famous scene – Juliet on the balcony, musing aloud about Romeo. Ann is Juliet, but I don't know who portrays Romeo. Her ordinary, mousy brown haired looks aren't _ordinary_ now. Her nose isn't running any longer, and her eyes sparkled in a happy glow; one you wouldn't be able to notice unless you knew her. A self-fulfilled sparkle. I take my cardigan off, no longer interested in whatever might be outside in the fog. The play is showing in London in a theatre near Spence. Inside the envelope there was a ticket to see; she'd bought me it. Should I go? I'm guessing Felicity would be invited too, and I haven't seen either of them for so long. Oh Ann, I can't possibly go. I've just got here. I shouldn't. Not that I don't miss them, but it would show me to be foolish and weak, needing old company once again, though I had sought difference.

Though I feel like I shall not go, another glance out the window makes my decision. India. Spence. London. America. I would go. Maybe a visit would release me from this strange, lonely new life. Though the trip would be long, and difficult...

I wouldn't talk myself out of this. Instead of pondering the positives and negatives, I went to get my things together. Money wasn't a problem for me; Tom's work got me a lot, the 'prestigious scientist' left him plenty to send me. I have nothing else to do, and if I do; I've forgotten. I can't say why exactly I have packed everything I own. It may be just a longing, or even an unknown premonition, but maybe I'm going in hope of staying.

**An: First time writing in the Gemma Doyle series, it's currently my favourite series :) **

**I don't know if I did well or not, and I know this category won't be as popular as others, so I might not get many reviews, but if you read, feel free to tell me what you think. I love the books, but I couldn't stand feeling like it just ended with a tree Kartik & a depressed Gemma going to America XD I mean, what is with the tree? :P No offence to Libba Bray, i still think they're fantabulous :)  
Thank you for readingg ~x***

**Blonde Gingernut. xDD**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys, sorry for the delay. I want to do something non-fanfictionish, & its hard :( So, here we go, another chapteeerr (:**

The teacup shakes in my hand, clinking against the plate I hold precariously underneath it. Grandmama stares at me, and then the cup, as though I might chink the pretty, flowery pattern away, but I don't care. I'm too nervous to care. Can you believe she hasn't said a word since I arrived. I'm beginning to fear she can no longer talk, after all these years I've been gone. She certainly looks a lot more withered than before. Her face is permanently etched into a fierce scowl, or maybe that's just me. I _am_ just her tearaway Granddaughter who never debuted, never got married and became a useful wife to a high-class gentleman.

"You never made use of yourself in America, did you?" It _is_ a question, but she didn't phrase it as one. My hope of not hearing her voice is crushed instantly. Not that I don't love the old woman, I just can hardly bear hearing her critical, crumbling voice every step I take. "Never even gave yourself up for your faith, did you?" Become a _nun_?

"No." I respond at last, I don't want her to think I'm contemplating that option.

"Women who don't marry should join the family of God." She carries on, as though trying to convince me. Before I left, she wouldn't even bother. If she wanted me to be a nun, that is what I would be. "But of course, those are women who will never get interest from gentlemen. Or common ruffians. Women who are troublesome cannot work for a spouse. Not always those who are not attractive. I suppose that would be you, a woman that would be a burden to a man." She pauses for a long breath, and I imagine her choking on it. I don't like being thought of as a worker for a husband. I don't like women thinking of themselves to be an asset for a man, nothing for themselves. "Or perhaps you do have someone? Why ever would you have left him behind? Or perhaps he is not a _respectable_ gentleman. Some American hooligan?" She shakes her head in disappointment. "Gemma, you disgrace me."

I drop the plate from under the cup. There is a smash as it hits the hard floor, then silence as the clinking stops. The teacup still shakes, but out of anger, not nerves. My straight back slouches, as I am no longer wanting to make a good impression for her. There is no way she will bring me back to England, as I'm staying anyway. There is no way she can punish me, I'm _my own woman_. "Grandmama," I say, narrowing my eyes. She's hit a nerve. Gone too far. Her words have made me think of Kartik. For, I _do_ have someone, only, he's just not _alive_. And he wasn't what she would call a _respectable gentleman._ Though, he was respectable. He was _everything_. "I don't believe that is any of your business." I put my cup down, and walk away, leaving behind the shattered cup. I hope it was her finest china. I hope I've ruined an expensive set. In fact I hope-

I stop walking, stop thinking, stop _everything_. I was going to hope... Maybe I don't like her after all. Though to be honest, I don't want to be like that. I don't want to be hateful. The last time I thought things like that about someone, I lost my mother. Though the thought has nothing to do with Grandmama, I instantly feel guilty. With a sigh, I walk back into the main room and sit down again.

"Clever girl. I do believe you might be learning something, after all those wasted days at Spence. Gentlemen want women who don't have tempers, women who back down easily." She smiles thinly. All my guilt evaporates, and is replaced by anger so thick I feel ill. No, I just feel ill, and angry. They aren't connected. I stand up, and rush away again, while Grandmama yells at me. "Respectable ladies excuse themselves, Gemma!" I don't care. I'm leaning over the toilet, emptying myself of everything.

"Gemma?" It's Tom. Followed by Gramdmama. I hear the concern on their voices, and it makes me smile bitterly, but only for a second, as I'm sick again. Sure, they care now, but when I'm not being valuable to them, whether being a tearaway, or too ill to marry, I'll be tossed away.

"She's unwell!" Grandmama screeches. I honestly didn't think it was such a big thing, it's just influenza, or a bug. These things, these silly little illnesses can't be helped. I cough, loudly and spluttering. And then I'm fine. I stand up, turn around and face them. They don't seem to be relieved, not like I am. I suppose, I have just been sick in front of them, and they _should_ be disgusted. Suddenly, I feel self conscious. I wipe my chin, and try to clean myself up. I go to flush away the sick, when I realize its colour. I haven't eaten anything red.

"Gemma, we need to take you to a doctor." Tom whispers, and I look down at my hand, where I'd wiped the moisture from my chin. I was about to clean it up, but now I'm mesmerized by it. It appears to be blood.

**There we go (:**

**Thanks for reading, or reviewing, or... whatever. :**D

**I might be getting some technology mistakes like.. er... the toilet. I know that in the 1930's they were at the end of the street, or at the end of the garden, but, if it seems different, it's just cause they're rich xD  
Just tell me what you think, k? Thankyoouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu (:**

**I'm Old GREGG! Ahahahaaa :P**

**Cya, xxx (:**


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